


whirlwind

by fiction fetishist (fictionfetishist)



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:05:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionfetishist/pseuds/fiction%20fetishist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cheren is dense and Bianca needs glasses. Hilda bemoans the trouble of knowing two people who are obviously interested in each other yet unwilling to do anything about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whirlwind

**Author's Note:**

> set a few months after b/w, before the protag goes off in search of N

Sometimes Hilda wonders how someone who acts like such a know-it-all could be so utterly _clueless_.

And, as if on cue, said someone glares at her in her peripheral vision. Hilda rolls her eyes. (Cheren could be so predictable at times.)

_Fine_ , she concedes, shrugging at him, maybe not clueless, and Cheren’s glare softens. _Hopeless_ , maybe? Hilda smirks, and Cheren scowls. (He makes it _way_ too to tease him, really.)

In all seriousness though, how someone manages to be perceptive enough to detect internal insults but have no clue about his own feelings is beyond her.

Oh well, Hilda sighs, it’s not up to her to sort things out. (Not that there would be anything _to_ sort out if Cheren would just stop being so difficult and admit—)

The familiar thumps of Bianca’s footsteps drawing nearer snap her out of her thoughts. “Look what I found!” she declares, and Hilda turns to see a pair of arms outstretched in front of her, small hands a bit too close to her face as they showed off the new discovery.

A simple pair of frameless lenses.

Huh. Hilda blinks and cocks her head to the side. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting when Bianca asked them to help her pick out a design, but she was pretty sure this wasn’t it. Then again, Hilda muses, it’s not like she had been expecting this whole ‘Bianca needs glasses’ ordeal either.

Sure, Bianca had always been a bit clumsy, but neither her nor Cheren actually thought attribute it to bad eyesight, instead considering it to what they’ve always thought to be part of her charm, (not that Cheren ever admit it, of course, but Cheren hardly admits anything no matter how true it is so what else is new?).

Hilda chuckles at the memory.

 

* * *

 

“Honestly, Bianca,” Cheren had said, rubbing his temples. “You really _should_ watch where you’re going.”

“Hehe,” Bianca smiled sheepishly, pressing her palms together and titling her head to the side, “Sorry, Cheren.”

Cheren sighed, “It’s alright, Bianca” and bent down to gather his books. (Why Cheren even bothers with books when he could just go out and learn from experience, Hilda still can’t understand.) “Just,” Cheren exhaled, brow furrowing as he gripped the leather covers. “Just be more careful, okay?”

Bianca knelt down beside him, tucking her skirt beneath her. “Will do!” she beamed at him, and Cheren simply nodded at her mock salute, eyes focused on the books before him. (Hilda remembered frowning; this was exactly the kind of hopeless behavior she had been telling him about.)

Bianca shifted slightly and leaned toward him. “Your glasses are crooked,” she said, and this was the part where Hilda tried really hard not to say ‘Serves you right’ as Cheren looked positively mortified (not quite unlike a Deerling caught in headlights, Hilda likes to add, just to spite him) as Bianca moved closer and reached out to his face, gingerly realigning his spectacles.

“Hmm,” Bianca murmured, fingers still touching the edges of the frames, just inches away from him, “They look a little dirty. Why don’t I clean them for you, too?” Cheren looked like he would have a heart attack at her proximity.

His breath hitched.

(Hilda wished she had a camera.)

Bianca just looked at him curiously and asked, “Are you okay, Cheren? You look a little red.” Then she pressed her palm onto his forehead, and Hilda could almost feel him heat up even more. (Oh, how she was having an absolute field day with all of this.)

Cheren turned to glared at her, shaking off Bianca’s palm in the process. “I’m fine,” he said, gritting his teeth as Hilda bared hers. (There was no way she was going to let him live this down.)

Bianca just smiled, oblivious, “That’s good then. I was getting worried for a minute there.” She clapped her hands together, “Now, about me cleaning your glasses…”

Hilda looked at him expectantly. Cheren just closed his eyes and sighed, “Whatever, do as you wish.”

Bianca let out a small laugh and gently slid them off of his face, rubbing on the glass in slow circular motions with her handkerchief. “Hey, Cheren,” she hummed thoughtfully, looking at the lenses curiously as she watched the light catch onto the edges.

“ _Yes_ , Bianca?” Hilda was surprised he managed to not glare. From his tone, she figured he may as well have said, “Please stop talking …and putting me into awkward situations which make me think about my _feelings_ because then I have to stop being a total wet blanket and actually act like the teenager that I am.” (Well, maybe the last part was pushing it, but that didn’t stop it from being any less true.)

Bianca titled her head and smiled, “You wouldn’t mind if I tried them on for a while, would you?”

Cheren buried his face into one of his palms. Hilda almost felt bad for him. But then she remembered that this was all for his own good anyway. (And her own enjoyment as well, but he didn’t need to know that.) She sent him a knowing smirk as he lowered his hand from his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose, “I suppose not—”

“Great!” Bianca exclaimed, dusting her skirt and smoothing it over as she stood up and put them on. Cheren eyed her warily and followed suit, picking up his small stack of books and straightening his clothes as he stood beside her, nearly losing his balance and falling back down again as he did so. Hilda snickered.

Cheren coughed. “Bianca,” he started, “Don’t wear it for too long. And make sure you don’t move around too much. You might get dizzy.” Bianca merely blinked. Cheren narrowed his eyes, trying again, “Bianca?”

“Wow,” Bianca trailed off, blinking a few more times as she whirled her head around her surroundings, “Everything looks so _clear_.”

(Well, Hilda decided, that was interesting.)

Cheren raised an eyebrow, his tone incredulous, “Bianca, don’t tell me—are you actually _nearsighted_?”

“Well, uh, I guess so?” Bianca sent him an apologetic look as she laughed nervously. “I mean, things have always been a bit…” she gestured vaguely with her hands, “a bit blurry, I guess? But I always thought it was just because they were far away…?” Bianca rubbed the back of her head awkwardly. “Oops?”

Cheren closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose so hard his fingers were shaking. “ _Honestly_ , Bianca…”

 

* * *

 

And so, one trip to the eye doctor and a _very_ exasperated Cheren later, the three of them found themselves in an optical shop. Or rather, Hilda found herself in a optical shop, Bianca found herself in front of a mirror trying all sorts of different frames, and Cheren found himself standing grumpily in a corner.

Hilda smiles. Bianca had sauntered over to him as she took her little trip down memory lane and now pressed the glasses she found earlier into his face, a picture of boundless sunshine against Cheren’s ever imposing stormy mood. (Hilda chastises herself; she really needs to pack a camera in her bag or something.)

“Look, Cheren!” Bianca exclaims, holding up her discovery proudly, “They’re just like yours!” before putting them on and grabbing onto his arm, pulling them both in front of the mirror. “Now we match!” she says, grinning widely as Cheren’s face contorts into something of a protest. (Hilda holds back a smirk. She’ll have plenty of time to tease Cheren about this later.)

Meanwhile, Cheren continues to look at their reflection.

“So…? What do you think?” Bianca prods him, tugging at his arm. Cheren’s gaze flickers between her and the mirror.

“I think,” he says, pausing thoughtfully at their reflection again. “I think you should pick something else.”

Bianca stares at him and lets go of his arm. “Why’s that?,” she asks and Hilda can hear the slight tremble in her voice, the disappointment and uncertainty lacing her words, and she is torn between her desire to just smack Cheren upside the head (because _really_ ) and her curiosity at hearing him out (because, as dense and as frustrating as he is, he’s still Cheren and he’s still their friend and he just better have a really good explanation for this).

Cheren turns his back to them, walking off to one of the nearby racks. “Because,” he says, trailing down the displays with his index finger, “it doesn’t suit you.”

Hilda lets out an indignant gasp and furrows her brow, immediately reconsidering her earlier decision of not just smacking him upside the head.

She absentmindedly begins flexing her fingers, ready to crack her knuckles before remembering that she’s not the one who should be offended (even though Cheren’s utter… Cheren-ness at times is pretty offensive all on its own).

Hilda takes a deep breath, trying to dissipate some of her lingering frustration before turning to Bianca. The other girl looks positively torn, her eyes drawn to the floor as she takes the glasses off and turns them idly in her hands. It’s almost enough for Hilda to just go ahead with the smacking-him-up-the-head plan, but that would probably just make Bianca sadder, so she sighs, and settles for as deadly a glare toward Cheren as she can muster.

He’s still got his back turned to them though, standing in front of one of the racks (and somehow it just annoys Hilda even more, that he could just ignore what happened a moment ago). “Frameless lenses don’t work with everyone,” he explains, “and with your eyes, you should go with something thicker, something that would bring them out.” he moves to another rack, eyeing it from top to bottom, hand on his chin. Hilda follows the movement, eyes still firmly set on a cold glare.

“However,” Cheren continues, sighing slightly as he steps away from the rack and walks toward a table this time, “you wouldn’t want them to overpower you, so half-frames would probably be best.”

He hovers over the displays, one hand tentatively reaching downward every once in a while, before shaking his head slightly and pulling it back up. Hilda glances at Bianca in the corner of her eye, watching her watch Cheren with full interest. (Hilda tries not to roll her eyes. Honestly, these two…)

“Here,” Cheren announces, finally, and Hilda turns to see him walking toward them, a pair or red glasses in his hand. “Try these on.”

Bianca looks back and forth at Cheren and his hand tentatively before breaking into an excited grin and eagerly swiping the glasses off of him and trying them on. “How do I look? How do I look?” she asks, posing in front of a nearby mirror.

Hilda sends a Cheren a _look_ (because this still isn’t over, and just because Bianca is unable to be completely sad for longer than a few minutes, doesn’t excuse him for being a total jerk earlier) before moving toward Bianca and gives her a thumbs up and a pat on the back. (As much as she still stands by her annoyance at Cheren, she does have to admit that they _do_ look pretty good on her.)

“Um, what do _you_ think, Cheren?” Bianca asks, looking sheepish, and Hilda raises her eyebrow at him expectantly.

Cheren puts his hand to his chin. “I think,” he says slowly, and Bianca leans forward as if on the edge of her seat. (Arceus, Hilda just can’t believe these two are her friends sometimes.) “They look good on you.”

Bianca seemingly explodes with happiness at that as she gives him her brightest grin and bounces toward him, taking his hands in hers. “Really? You think so?” and Hilda has to give Cheren _some_ props for not fainting. (He _did_ , however, turn into quite the Cheri berry, which, Hilda is willing to consider as part of his making up for his jerkishness earlier.)

“Y-Yes,” Cheren replies, clearing his throat and looking away slightly (possibly to force his heart back into its proper place and heart rate, Hilda thinks amusingly). “I think so.”

He lets Bianca pull him into a hug then, showing a distinct lack of protest and even the barest hint of a smile as she drags him by the arm and goes to the counter to make her purchase.

Maybe, Hilda decides, Cheren wasn’t so clueless, after all.


End file.
